“Anything for you,” Isdemus replied.
Before Jesse could make sense of their strange exchange, a darkness filled his vision and he was falling, falling.
For Death, For Life, For Victory
33
Help from Others
They weren’t far from Whitechurch now. Khallum had wanted to cut through the Gap of Ever to bisect Fionn’s Pass, but Oakenwell insisted there’d be more men to the south of Whitechurch in anticipation of that, and it was the men led by Strong and Garrick who were better prepared to distract them. If Lord Warwick and Lord Blackwood wanted to maintain their secrecy in position, Oakenwell said, they would have to add a day and cross where the pass eased at Rushwood.
Khallum hadn’t made up his mind about Oakenwell. The man’s earnest defection was written plainly upon his face. But when he tried to envision one of his own men doing the same, the raw discomfort this produced created a twinge of doubt. He both admired Oakenwell, for standing strong against tyranny, and also feared the very idea of him, for what if Law, Rutland, or the others decided Khallum was a tyrant? Would they then also be the heroes in their tale, and he, the villain, as The Deceiver was in Oakenwell’s tale?
They camped just beyond Rushwood, setting up in a spot where the homes gave way to forest, and the foothills provided some cover. They were small in number, Brandyn’s Bannermen and Khallum’s few trusted men, but if Hamish and Garrick came through, this wouldn’t be a factor in victory. The might of the Southerlands could best the whole of Quinlanden’s army with some luck, but most of Quinlanden’s army was in the Westerlands. What remained was a sliver. It would be a bloodbath.
Unless they deployed the Medvedev.
“Turning in, my lord,” Rutland said with a nod before disappearing into his small tent. Law waved from a few paces down, doing the same. The others had already retired, except the prince, who was off on a walk by himself, something he did most nights. He’d never hear of anyone joining him. Khallum supposed he understood. The man had been alone with his thoughts for five years. Wasn’t so easy to start sharing them now.
Khallum started to kick dirt over the remnants of the fire when he heard his nephew come up behind him. He knew it was him by the soft sound of his steps against the undergrowth of the forest floor. Twelve was too young to be leading an army.
“Lord Warwick?”
Khallum turned. “We’re kin, Brandyn. No need for formalities, unless the men are present.”
Brandyn nodded. He looked down at his feet. “I can’t sleep. I thought maybe you were having the same trouble.”
“Aye,” Khallum lied. “Sit. We’ll enjoy the last of the embers and pass a tick.”
Brandyn smiled in relief and settled upon a rock one of the others, Storm maybe, had brought over for them to sit on while they prepared the evening meal. “I know I’ve been to Whitechurch, but I don’t remember it. I was much younger.”
“A strange place. They live in the trees.”
Brandyn laughed. “My mother says this is so they can lord over the less fortunate.”
“I donnae suspect your ma is wrong in that.”
“You know my mother, don’t you? Were you friends?”
Khallum whistled through his lips. “I wouldnae say friends, but I respect her. She’s tough. Tough as any man, I’d say. More than some.”
“Like my father.”
“Your father was salt and sand, through and through.”
“Can you tell me about him?”
Khallum took a swig from his wine flask. He passed it to Brandyn, who shook his head. “Byrne? You spent more time with him than I have. Been twenty years or more since he called the Southerlands home.”
“I know who my father was. He was good and kind, and spent more time with us than would be expected of a man,” Brandyn said carefully. “But he was more than that. I’d like to see him through your eyes, Uncle.”
Khallum chuckled, his breath turning into a small cloud in the cool night air. “Aye, well, Byrne was a funny lad. Ye have to know, most Warwicks are serious, as it goes. We’re tough. Yesenia was the toughest of all. She’d smack us around if we even looked like a tear might spring into our eyes. When we were quite little, I mean. Tell us we were weak, due to the tiny cod flapping between our thighs, and she, who was born to bear children into the world, was tougher than the gems we sprang from the mines.”
Brandyn giggled. “She said that?”
“Oh aye. And Byrne, she’d tell him to harden up. Remind him that salt and sand had no soft edges, ye ken? It should cut ye not soothe ye. But one day, she stopped fussing him. She knew he wasnae like she and I, and she accepted it, I think, in her own way.”
“Did something happen that made her change her mind?”
Khallum nodded, looking off into the dark woods. “One day... t’was raining, that’s what I remember clearest. The rain. Enough for a month, but in hours. Mud pooling everywhere, men getting their boots stuck in it. Byrne was hunting. Hated it, he did, but Father made us all do it, even though we had men to do it for us. Said men provided, from kings to clothiers, and if we were men, we provided. Was a simple thing to him. Not to Byrne, who loved all things, two or four legged.”
Brandyn smiled softly. His eyes glassed over as the dying smoke passed by. “He still did. I remember that most of all.”
Khallum nodded. “Aye, well, he loved them then, and my father, he didnae catch it in time. He never understood his youngest boy. And I ken neither did Yesenia and I. But that day, he came back with his arms full of birds. Sparrows, little things. Not even birds among the wiser of them, but there were dozens of them. Dead, all of ’em. Not a speck of blood, so no struggle with something bigger. Just dead. Yesenia and I told ’im he’d be sick, he played with ’em too long, but he dropped to his knees and cried. Scattered the dead birds around him and lay in the middle and sobbed. Yesenia began in on him, but something stayed her. She turned to me and said, ‘don’t let Father see this,’ and we kept Byrne safe from him for that night. And then in the morning, he was nay longer lying in the center. He was sitting. And the birds? They were alive as day, swirling and chirping around his head as he laughed and laughed.”
Brandyn gasped. “They returned to life? Did he... did he do that?”
Khallum shrugged, grunting. “My brother had no magic in him before that day, or after that day. But I cannae deny what I saw. Yesenia saw it, too. And she never said another word to him about the tiny cod between his thighs, or his tender heart.”
“Wow. I never knew that.”
Khallum nodded. “Don’t suppose he talked much about us, did he?”
“Not really. We asked him, Ember and me mostly. But he never wanted to talk about it.”
“Aye, I suppose he wouldn’t. I’ve fooled myself, all these years, believing Byrne was salt and sand, but he was always meant to wed your ma, I ken, and end up where the Guardians meant to place him all along.”
“I don’t know who I’m most like,” Brandyn said with a long sigh. “I think my men believe I’m my mother’s son, but I... I’m not so sure, Uncle Khallum. I think I’m more my father.”
Khallum kicked dirt at the edges of the fire to quell the rise of emotion trapped in his chest. “There is no shame to be found in being the son of Byrne Warwick, Brandyn. He was the best of us all.”
Brandyn hung his head. “Yeah. He was my best friend.”
Khallum reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Shall we go over the plan once more?”
* * *
Lisbet had told them everything. All of it. Every last terrible truth Kian had tossed in her lap like a sweetmeat. She watched the faces of Eavan, Gabrianna, and Meadow as they absorbed that Valen was Dain Rhiagain, and that Drystan and Lisbet were his children. Observing this was like experiencing it all over again, but with access to her own emotions, which had been shoved aside with everything she’d ever known about herself. Through their eyes, their gasps, their disbelief, Lisbet began to feel it all sink deep i
nto her marrow, no longer a story, but a reality that was a part of her.
And though they had questions, lots of questions, they all believed her. Just as she’d believed Kian. Somewhere within her, she’d always known that her truth was not what she’d been given these past fourteen years, and these revelations brought the gaps to a close. The puddles of doubt receded, and the sun peeked through. She wondered if they could see this in her, and that was why their own dubiousness faded as her words went on, barreling toward the shocking end.
“We can’t save him,” she’d told them, days ago, when they were still under the veil of the Drumain of the Hinterlands. “I would give my life to save him, but it would be another life wasted, for he would still die.”
“But you want to go to him, don’t you?” Eavan asked through her tears. “Even so?”
“Not to stop him, Eavan. I... my mother always told me there are things bigger than ourselves. Things that can hurt us, to save others. I never understood it until now.” Lisbet shook her head. “No, I can’t stop him. I can’t take this last act of heroism from him. But I can see him one last time.”
“I know of this Mortain. I heard my mother speak of him, with her seer, Joran. He is a monster, from another world,” Gabi said. In her eyes was a hollow, faraway look.
“I was afraid of him,” Eavan said. “He’s not like us.”
“Kian said the same,” Lisbet answered. “But he also said Drystan can succeed, as long as he does not know who he really is.”
“I always knew you were special.” Eavan grinned, wiping at her eyes. “I always knew you were more than snow and ice and furs.”
“I will always be Lisbet Dereham of Wulfsgate,” she corrected her. “But I am also something else, and I’ve been given this revelation for a reason.”
“What?” Meadow asked? “What reason?”
“I don’t know yet. Kian insisted I must discover this for myself.”
“How convenient. How he loves his riddles,” Eavan quipped. Color had returned to her cheeks. Lisbet hoped that meant the fire within her was burning once more.
“And we have to go? Now?” Gabi asked. When Lisbet nodded, she added, “I have to admit, I was reluctant coming here, terrified being here, but now I’m just as scared to leave.”
Lisbet reached forward and squeezed her hand. “Me too, Gabi. I’m feeling all sorts of ways about all of this.”
“So we can go home?” Meadow asked.
“Your home is at war,” Lisbet said to her. “Your home is not safe.”
“But Brook went home!”
“We don’t know where Brook went. Only that he escaped.”
“Lisbet is right,” Gabi said. “And so was Drystan, for going to stop this madness. I know Uncle Aiden is not a good man, but I don’t think he would have done this on his own.”
“But now we must decide where we go,” Lisbet said to them all. “Wulfsgate is safe. The keep is a fortress and the borders are closed to anyone who doesn’t belong. Eavan, you can take Gabi and Meadow there until this all ends. My mother will see after everyone.”
Eavan shook her head. “And leave you? Not a chance.”
“I’m heading straight into the lion’s den. It may be a one-way journey.”
Eavan shrugged. “Then we better be prepared for it. Right, girls?”
Gabi and Meadow each hesitated before nodding. “That’s right,” Gabi said. “I left what was safe to save my sister, and now she’s gone. And my father is gone. And my home may never be the same. What is left for me, if not to help others?”
“Let’s go, Lisbet,” Eavan said with a small smile. “Let’s go see your brother. And then, when the end has come, we will return him to your mother, and to his place among the ancestors of Wulfsgate.”
* * *
Marsh rode up on his horse. “The scouts have returned from Parth. There’s no reports yet of Quinlanden men coming toward the border.”
“Good,” Holden said.
“Is that good, Lord Dereham?” Marsh asked. “We’re here because they expect them to be drawn off, toward the Easterlands. If they’re not drawn off, then Lord Blackwood’s plan hasn’t succeeded, has it?”
Christian pulled his hood tighter around his face. It was somewhat warmer south of the Northerlands, but the winds were merciless. “I know waiting is hard, Marsh. But that’s what war is. Waiting, for days, weeks, months, and then, at last, being thrust into the worst day of your life.”
Marsh grinned. “Sounds great.”
“They’ll come,” Holden said. He didn’t share their humors. “The boy has Khallum Warwick at his side. He’ll not miss an opportunity to draw blood.”
Marsh hunkered down on his horse as another hard wind ripped off the Seven Sisters. “It’s not more than a couple days ride home for me, from here.”
“Your home won’t be home until this war is over,” Christian cautioned. “You don’t know what you’d find.”
“Yeah. Right,” Marsh answered. He looked toward the mountains. “I only hope Blackfen passed my message to them, that I was safe in Wulfsgate. I’d like that to be their last word of me, if things go poorly for them, or us.”
“It does a man no good to think of the end,” Holden said. “It comes either way.”
“I feel so much better,” Marsh muttered.
“I know waiting is hard,” Christian said. “And I know you worry about Ember, but she’s safer there than anywhere else in the kingdom.”
“It’s not her safety I worry for,” Marsh said.
Christian nodded knowingly. “Ahh. Alasyr? He ignites her curiosity, that’s all. She looks for part of herself in him, for the blood they share. Pay it no mind.”
“Alasyr? The Ravenwood boy?” Holden asked. “What’s Ember doing with him?”
“Nothing, Father,” Christian said, passing a look at Marsh. “He’s dipped down toward Wulfsgate in his efforts to find his sister, is all.”
“Hmph. He should remember his place. We don’t venture up Icebolt Mountain, lingering near their home.”
“We couldn’t even if we wanted to,” Christian said. “There’s no way up that mountain without wings.”
“Mother’s blood. What is Alric saying to our men now?”
Christian turned toward where his father was looking and saw his uncle gathered in a group of men. The ones behind him were laughing and rolling their eyes. The ones in front of him wore humoring looks, inciting the ones making fun.
A sudden anger rolled through Christian as he watched their treatment of him. “I don’t care what he’s said. I won’t condone any man treating the brother of the lord of our Reach with such disrespect, and neither should you.”
Christian clicked his tongue, spurring Sun into action, and went to go do what his father would not.
* * *
Khallum drew a circle in the dirt with a long yew branch. “Here’s Whitechurch.” He traced two Xs to the upper right and left. “You, me, Oakenwell, Joran, will be here,” he said, pointing to the westernmost X.
“And Storm.”
“Aye,” Khallum said, shaking his head. “And your little friend.”
“I’ll wager she’s killed more men than you have.”
Khallum ignored him. “Rutland, Law, the James men, and our friend we will not name aloud will go west. This will keep our power divided between the camps, should one be discovered. I ken I’ll have the Grand Minister ride ahead to Whitechurch, for they wouldnae dare assault a man of the Reliquary, Westerland roots or nay. There’s none in a better position to assess the state of things there.”
Brandyn dropped his voice. “Perhaps our ‘friend’ should not have come at all. Not without reinforcements.”
“We have reinforcements coming from the south.”
“But when?”
“Soon.”
Brandyn scowled. “I don’t want our men walking into an ambush.”
“Do ye suppose I’ve not thought of that, then?” Khallum countered, bristling.
“Because I’ve come to do more than aid ye, nephew. I intend to win your Reach back. And when the tallies are figured, it will be the Southerlands with the most numbers, the most men who showed to save the Westerlands.”
Brandyn kicked his feet over the rudimentary battle map in the dirt. “Good night, Uncle.”
34
Words and Deeds
Eoghan dismissed his Master of Ships in a rage. He hadn’t even known he had one. Correen told him, when he demanded she tell him why Maeryn Blackwood hadn’t arrived yet.
“I have heard nothing myself, but let us engage the Master of Ships.”
“Master of Ships? What does he do, exactly?”
“He would know of any vessels scheduled for port at Duncarrow, a fortnight or so in advance. A ship does not leave its origin port until the receiving port has approved them, so if anything was properly planned, he would have it recorded.”
“Fascinating. So he would have known about the ship that carried our sister, Lady Blackwood, and the others?”
Correen set her lips tight. “Not exactly, Eoghan. That ship was scheduled to port with resources for the keep, and that was precisely what was on board. It was the departure that was done under subterfuge.”
“Fascinating.”
“Eoghan,” Correen said. “I cannot fault you for searching for a place to lay blame. But that betrayal happened elsewhere, and it does us no good to punish those who are loyal to us. Shall I fetch him?”
The Master of Ships was useless. He had no word of Maeryn Blackwood arriving now or at any time. He offered to double-check his logs, to which Eoghan agreed, without much hope in the results, and sent him off.
When he was gone, Correen asked, “Shall I send for Oldwin? It was he you left in charge of sending for her, yes?”
“No!”
“All right.” Correen folded her hands over her torso.
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